Ashes of a Burnt Past
by AveraIllisa
Summary: Viola's mother, Brenda, is a skilled physician in her village that quit her job for more time with her family. But when a curious rich couple seeks a doctor for an ill daughter, Brenda is chosen to cure their child. She was never prepared for what secrets that lurked behind the dark mansion... What I speculate happened to Viola's mother. Purely cannon.


"Honey! Lunch is ready!"

The hunter glanced up from his chores, grinning at his wife, Brenda, as she leaned against the doorframe. Her long golden hair was done up in a braid that fell halfway down her back and the apron she wore was slightly stained with a manner of oils and sauces. The smile on her face was warm as she beckoned her husband to the kitchen for a bite to eat. The hunter twisted the wet cloth he was holding and mopped the dust off the antiques lining the drawers, claiming that he would arrive at the dining table after the chores she had given him were completed. Sighing, Brenda returned to the kitchen to prepare the finishing touches on the family meal. Viola, their nine year-old daughter had overheard her mother's call and rushed to the kitchen, peering over the top of the table to see what delicacies had been prepared.

"Yay! Fried chicken!" Viola cheered happily from the other room, earning a smile from the hunter as the last specks of dust were cleaned up. Dropping the worn cloth in the bucket of water by his feet, he went to join his family at the dining table where the two blondes were already seated. Viola was taking a large amount of fried chicken off the platter while her mother was attempting at stopping her before she emptied the entire tray. When the hunter walked into the room, Viola immediately glanced up and grinned happily at him, half a chicken stuffed in her mouth. The hunter laughed and took a seat beside his over-eager daughter, saving a piece of chicken from her flailing utensils. Brenda smiled sheepishly at him and ruffled her daughter's hair as she devoured the meat hungrily.

"That was tasty!" Viola commented when the food was consumed, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. "Mommy makes the best meals ever!"

"Why, thank you, dear!" Brenda smiled and embraced her child, gathering the dishes to the back for scrubbing. The hunter cleared his plate and brought it to the back as well, assisting his wife in washing as Viola scurried out the house to play. The dishes clinked together as the two cleaned, soap bubbles gathering in the basin as the continued. The hunter sighed wearily, running a hand through his graying brown hair. Brenda glanced at him curiously, concerned.

"Is there something the matter, dear?" she inquired, rinsing the soap off a slightly chipped plate.

"The money is dwindling," he replied, running a sponge across several utensils. "I'm trying to hunt down more animals to sell, but it's still not enough. Was it wise to quit your regular job as the village physician?"

Brenda's face tightened. "With that job, I was almost never home," she sighed, wiping off a soaking bowl with a napkin. "I would rather spend my time with Viola than heal strangers. I know, it's a good job and I earn quite a bit…but even though I feel good about helping other's it's terrible that Viola would have no parent around to be with."

The hunter's feature's softened. He could understand that. Viola was their pride and joy – a cheerful little girl with a bright smile and a pleasant face. The whole of the village fell in love with her and friends poured in by the bucketful, meaning that Viola had someone to occupy her time with every second of every day. Still, she had once announced that her mother and father were the best friends out there – how could they leave her alone?

Brenda was a talented doctor – one of the village's best. Even though she had retired, that still didn't clear the one or two odd people from knocking on her door on a daily basis, asking whether she had the time to see to a loved one. It was tiresome but better than the job she possessed before, when every hour of everyday was spent on work.

And so that ended to conversation, with the hunter nodding in sympathy and murmuring that he would try harder to earn money for the household. Brenda was grateful to her husband and, when the cleaning was finished, the mother and father hurried out the door to enjoy some playtime with their favorite child.

"What on earth is happening out there, dear?" Brenda asked curiously, a week after the conversation over dish-washing. A crowd of people had gathered around the middle of the village, and a murmur of voices could be heard as people chatted. In the distance, one could hear a man's voice shouting a sentence repeatedly, but it was lost under the clamor of voices. The hunter was peering out the window with his wife at his elbow, both wondering what had caused such attention. Viola, of course, couldn't care less about the world outside her play toys right now – she was engrossed in teatime with her stuffed toys, giggling and chatting animatedly with the bunch. Brenda frowned as she eyed the crowd, all shuffling about and murmuring to their partners. What could be happening?

"I'm not sure, Brenda," the hunter replied, shouldering his shotgun. "But I'm going to find out. Stay here with Viola."

The line's in her forehead – worry lines, she called them – became more prominent as she watched her husband saunter over towards the crowd and elbow his way in, earning a series of angered cries from the people he had unwillingly shoved aside. Viola noticed his father's absence immediately, being the Daddy's Girl she was, and asked where he had gone. Brenda smiled faintly and ruffled her daughter's hair. "It's alright, Viola; your father just went out to check something, that's all. Now, I think Mr. Fluffy Claws wants a refill."

Viola jerked up immediately, darting over to her large stuffed cat doll with her plastic kettle. As Viola was tilting the non-existent tea into a toy mug in front of the cat, Brenda saw her husband's approaching figure. On his face was a look of amazement as he sauntered over to his house and ducked through her front door. Brenda hurried over to him to question what exactly had occurred that had caught such a crowd.

"A couple is out there – a rich couple, by the looks of it," the hunter replied, gesturing to the crowd. "They're looking for a doctor that would help cure their child's illness. They're offering quite a bundle for his or her services."

Brenda's eyes narrowed. "And you want me to do it?"

"They're paying a fortune!" the hunter argued, pointing to the horde of people gathered outside. "3 of our village physicians are already out there, explaining how good they are. Please, Brenda – do this for Viola! For her future!"

Brenda sighed dramatically, shaking her head. This was ridiculous – how could she agree to this? How could she just leave Viola all alone? Ever since she had quit her title as the village doctor, she had always been there for her little child. There never came a day when Viola woke up and found BOTH her parents gone. How could she say yes?

But how could she say no?

"Fine," Brenda said, sighing deeply. "For Viola."

The hunter led his wife through the throng of bodies, squirming through the shifting crowd towards the rich pair. While they went, they left their trustworthy neighbor Margaret in charge of Viola – after all, none of them could have Viola alone in the house. Soon, Brenda and the hunter had squeezed through the tight press of bodies, and she could see that her husband had not exaggerated the pair's 'richness'. Both were dressed extravagantly, with clothes lined with gold patterning. Both had a grim expression on their faces as they listened closely to what the 3 – now four – doctors of the village were saying, over-embellishing their skills at healing. Judging from the look on their faces, the pair didn't seem particularly convinced when one said that he could bring the practically dead back to life.

What Brenda wasn't prepared for was to be grabbed by one of the villagers and dragged towards the rich pair. "I've got a doctor for you! Here's Brenda, one of the BEST physicians in the village!"

_It seems my reputation has exceeded me, _Brenda thought with a sigh. It was true she had cured a young girl of a particularly horrible disease during her doctor days, but the villager didn't have to present her like some sort of pride of the village.

The couple turned to her direction, skeptical eyebrows raised. "Oh?"

Suddenly, the entire village began to agree with the man's words, claiming that Brenda was one of the most talented doctors they possessed. The hunter smiled at her and gave her a reassuring thumb's up, and Brenda smiled back. She hoped she had made the right choice.

"I…see," the woman of the rich couple murmured, pushing her glasses further up her nose. She looked quite serious; her mouth did not look like smiling was its favorite activity. Her husband seemed just the same – completely stern and solemn about their situation. Brenda couldn't imagine any of them just kicking back and joking around; they looked as grave as if they were planning a funeral.

The man came up to her and questioned her thoroughly, mostly questions like: "Are you sure you have the skills to heal my daughter?" and the like. When she had answered their inquiries, the pair seemed vaguely satisfied. The man patted her shoulder and murmured: "Very well, then; you've got the job. Please, come with us."

Brenda was dumbfounded. "Now?"

"Yes," the woman replied, a steely gaze beneath her square spectacles. "NOW."

Brenda searched the crowd for her husband and found him dithering in the crowd, smiling crookedly at her. He looked a bit regretful of his choice, but the couple was already leading her towards a carriage that had pulled up by the entrance of the village. The villagers watched her go, suddenly unsure, which spurred little confidence in Brenda as she hauled herself into the back of the cart. When the pair had seated themselves beside her, the driver nodded and snapped the reins. The wagon lurched forward as the horses stirred and began trotting ahead, leaving the bright lights of her village behind – and her family.

"Our daughter's in her bedroom," the woman murmured, pointing up the stairs. "First door to the right."

"Oh, of course," Brenda stammered nervously. She was beginning to feel that she had just committed a mistake. Despite the fact that they had ventured into their village in search for a physician, they hardly seemed to care about the well-being of their daughter. During the trip here, they hardly mentioned her and didn't even explain her condition to Brenda. She couldn't believe such parents existed – such parents that were so wrapped up in their work and stress that no time could be wasted on a child.

The couple nodded and turned to leave.

"Oh, wait!" Brenda called. The two turned back to look at her, irritated. "Um…what's your daughter's name?"

The two exchanged glances.

"You can ask her that YOURSELF, can you not?" the woman said coldly, hitching her glasses up her nose. "Now, we have business to attend to. Tend to our daughter and be on your way. If you can't heal her, just go – the carriage is yours to take. Don't worry about not having the skills or medication to cure her – it has happened several times before. DO NOT disturb us again."

Brenda watched them leave with raised eyebrows. How, she wondered, could parents be this cold hearted? Refusing to inform her of such a petty thing like a name – she began to feel slightly sorry for this child. She could even begin to imagine treating Viola like that. Sighing, she shrugged on her med-pack and headed up the stairs, nearing the door that led to the sick child's bedroom. Cautiously, she knocked on the door. She wasn't sure how this child would react to a stranger just popping up at her door like that, so she was careful where she treaded.

"Um, hello?" Brenda called, hoping the child could hear. "My name is…Doctor Brenda? Your parents want me to have a look at you and see if you can cure your disease…"

Brenda heard a bolt slide back and the door open, revealing a tiny little girl perched atop a wheelchair that was nearly too big for her to move around in. The petite child, like both her parents, had long purple locks that spilt down her shoulders in an unbroken fashion. A large red bow rested on her head and yellow eyes examined her warily. She had on a bright red pinafore worn over a white blouse and a black cat sat contentedly in her lap, purring as she ran her fingers across its sleek fur.

Brenda had to hold back her surprise. When she had been chosen to cure their daughter, she wasn't expecting a child quite so young. The girl had to be smaller than Viola – at least six or seven years of age. How could her parents be so unloving of such a youthful girl? How could they believe she could fend for herself? Brenda suddenly felt enraged by her client's behavior – believing work was more important than such a young child!

"Hello," the girl greeted her, smiling slightly. The cat on her lap opened one golden eye and regarded Brenda warily, then yawned and fell back asleep. The girl continued to stroke the feline as she examined the stranger that had turned up on her door. "My name is Ellen. Are you my doctor?"

"Why, yes," Brenda replied tenderly, believing such a young child should be treated with care. "My name is Doctor Brenda. It's very nice to meet you."

Ellen's pale lips curved into a smile. "I like you. You're nice. Not like Dr. Phillips; he gave me bitter medicine. Or Dr. Jones; he was mean to me. You're sort of like Dr. Cooper – she was nice, but she couldn't cure my disease. My disease is the meanest…."

Brenda was astounded by the number of doctors the girl listed out. How many had come to see this girl? What sort of illness required such a large number of physicians?

"Please come in, Dr. Brenda!" Ellen said politely, turning her wheelchair away from the doorframe so that the doctor could step into her room. It was rather large, with a four-poster bed sitting in the corner. A tray laden with pills and other sort of medication sat upon her bedside table and a container of water was positioned next to it. A horde of stuffed animals took up a majority of space on the large bed, some spilling to the floor. But what frightened Brenda – or at least concerned her – was the amount of tissues stuffed in the waste bin by the bed, all of which were drenched in blood.

_What sort of illness does this child have? _

"Are we starting the check-up now?" Ellen asked quietly, yellow eyes questioning. "I have stuff to do tonight, Dr. Brenda; things my cat wants me to do. Can you do this as fast as possible, please?"

Brenda jerked out of her reverie and smiled thinly. "Of course, dear; we'll start immediately."

Brenda fussed over the child for awhile, checking for her condition, and was astounded to realize she could not place her illness. Sometimes she coughs up blood, but her lungs seemed fine. She usually gets pains in her legs (the reason for the wheelchair) and she also realized in horror that some of her organs were slowly ceasing in functioning. It was definitely a confusing case and soon, Brenda found herself tearing her hair out as she sought for the answer to all these symptoms.

"You don't know anything about this disease, do you?" Ellen asked, catching Brenda's attention. The child seemed slightly sorrowful as she stroked her cat, hugging it close to her body. "It's alright, Dr. Brenda – its normal. You can go now."

Brenda was surprised at how little the child seemed to care – how she seemed to have given up on living. She reminded her of little Viola when she caught a high temperature – such a drama queen she was, wailing that she was going to die. But when it subsided she was back to her happy, bubbly self – and what a relief that was. Brenda ground her teeth in frustration.

_No! _She thought determinedly. _I will NOT let this child suffer. I WILL cure her disease!_

But even after a half hour, Brenda remained none the wiser. She informed Ellen to stay put while she went to get some fresh air and a cup of water. She sighed as she descended the stairs, shaking her head as she filled a cup of water from the kitchen and downed it in one gulp. How could this be possible? Her illness matched none of the diseases she knew – so what did she have? As she opened a window and breathed in the fresh night air, she curled her hands into fists. She wouldn't let this child suffer more than she needed to – she would help her get this over with.

Just as she was climbing back up the stairs towards Ellen's room, a bloodcurdling scream echoed from the couple's office, freezing her blood in Brenda's veins. Hurriedly, she dashed towards the room and threw open the door. The heavy stench of death and blood filled her nose as soon as she entered and she gagged, covering her nose with a hand to ward off the stink. Her knees grew weak as she examined the room, wide-eyed.

The man that had hired her was dead, multiple stab wounds leaking crimson fluid onto the expensive carpeting. Blood coated the walls and dripped down in some morbid pattern as the screams resumed and jerked Brenda from her horrified trance. As she spied the room for the woman, she found her lying on her back, shrieking horribly as Ellen, the sickly girl from before tore her insides out with a knife, lips curved into some sick smile. Her glasses had slipped off her face and now lay shattered on the floor as her own child ripped her flesh apart.

"Ellen!?" Brenda exclaimed, shocked, disgusted, and horrified by the display. The child did…this? The seven year-old girl from before, who let her in politely, who sorrowfully regarded her when she realized her disease could not be cured – she did all THIS? Brenda stepped back fearfully as the child glanced up, face contorted in a look of surprise. While she gazed curiously at Brenda's direction, her hand still resumed stabbing her mother, ignoring her agonized screams as life left her.

"Hello, Dr. Brenda," Ellen greeted politely, nearly seeming like that child again – despite, of course, the blood that coated her hands and dripped down her face. She stepped over her dead mother's body and yanked the knife out of her flesh, splattering crimson liquid across the ground. "What are you doing here? I thought you were downstairs."

"What are you doing!?" Brenda shrieked, horrified. "You…you…KILLED them!"

"I didn't mean to do it," Ellen murmured like a child being told off for a bad deed. "Mr. Demon told me to do it. I just followed."

"Demon…?" Brenda's words trailed off as the black cat from before emerged from its shadowed hiding spot beneath a curtain. Golden eyes locked on hers as it approached, gazing around the blood-splattered room in approval.

"Yo, Brenda," the cat said, sitting itself down by her feet. "Glorious work, isn't it? Ellen is very talented."

Brenda couldn't speak; her mouth was frozen in horror. The cat could talk! It could TALK! It wasn't a cat at all…it was one of the infamous demons she had heard so much about. Ellen wasn't just an innocent little girl – she was a person who had made a pact with a demon. She was a witch!

Suddenly, she was aware of Ellen advancing towards her slowly with her weapon raised, an apologetic look on her small face. "I'm sorry, Dr. Brenda…you really were nice. But Mr. Demon told me not to leave any witnesses behind – or evidence, which was why I set up a bomb in the back room."

_Bomb!? _Brenda had to get out. She had to. The girl was mad – completely mad. She would kill her if she stayed any longer. Hurriedly, she unfroze her limbs and made a break for the stairs, scurrying down the steps as the cat and witch followed. A scream threatened to rip from her throat as she fled, tears of fear streaming from her eyes. She ran to the back of the house and hid beneath a stack of unopened boxes – containing what, she didn't know. She was too busy clamping both hands over her mouth to keep herself from whimpering than to wonder what was inside stupid boxes.

Suddenly, she realized the dull ticking noise that filled the air.

_What is that? _Brenda wondered, trying to make sense of the sound.

Just as the last seconds ticked by, Brenda remembered that Ellen had set up a bomb in the back of the house.

But remembered too late to flee.

"What the heck is that!?"

The hunter was pacing about impatiently, waiting edgily for the carriage to return with his wife. But before that could happen, a murmur of voice wafted in from outside, and burning curiosity made him creak open the door and peer outside. A horde of villagers had gathered once again, this time pointing at the thick column of smoke that drifted up into the sky. Words like "fire" and "big" and "oh my god" were exchanged as they all stared, dumbfounded, at the thickening grey mist.

A nasty nugget of thought wormed its way into the hunter's mind.

_Wasn't that the area the carriage went? _

He told himself not to be ridiculous. Some foolish guy was obvious burning some rubbish so that his house wouldn't smell like the stuff. But did open burning usually gather so much smoke?

Unfortunately, the hunter would understand why exactly his wife didn't return that night when the newspaper arrived the next morning.

His guilt never went away.


End file.
